


Service and Denial

by hutchynstarsk



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen, puns, silliness, too much to drink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little humour</p>
            </blockquote>





	Service and Denial

**Author's Note:**

> with thanks to Maggenpie for her British beta :) A little humour piece. :D

**Notes:** with thanks to Maggenpie for her British beta :) A little humour piece. :D

 

 

Walking side by side, the two CI5 men left the fancy building.

“Oi. What will the old man think up next? Why we go to these things...” said Bodie.

“’Cause we have to support him, don’t we? The old man needs an audience who’s on his side.”

“Not me, with a title like that. ‘Service and Denial’ my arse.”

Doyle snorted in laughter, almost a giggle.

“You’ve had too much champagne, mate,” said Bodie.

“Well, only reason to go, isn’t it?”

“What ‘appened to ‘audience on his side?’” Still walking side by side with Doyle, Bodie took a step sideways so he jostled Doyle, knocking him towards the left.

“Watch it, mate!” Doyle came back at him with a shove. They jostled back and forth for a few moments, gallivanting playfully.

Bodie snorted in laughter and Doyle snickered again as they separated and continued walking.

“But really, I mean, come on!” said Bodie. “Service? Yeah, ‘course we serve our country. But why mix it with ‘denial?’”

“Got two points off that one, didn’t he?” Doyle held up two fingers, and ticked them off. “Self-denial, keeping yourself sharpish and on the ball—and denial-denying anything we don’t want the public to know about.”

“Transparency in government,” said Bodie, pronouncing the words carefully. He spread his arms wide. “And look what they get—us!” He walked a wobbly, almost straight line.

“Us,” agreed Doyle. “D’you remember where we parked the car?”

“We parked? You parked it, sunshine. Not that you’re fit to drive.” He moved closer and slung a drunken arm around Doyle’s shoulders.

Doyle pushed him off.

“Bugger it. Call a cab.” He walked with one foot on the pavement, one in the road at an uneven pace, bobbing up and down, his hair bouncing with each step.

After a moment, he said rather plaintively, “Bodie. Remember where you left the phone box?”

Bodie laughed aloud. “You’d lose your curls if they weren’t sewn into your head, golly.” He made for Doyle, to scrub his hair.

Doyle got away from him, clacking away on his heeled boots, walking now on the edge of the road. He spread his arms wide, like a child playing airplane. “‘Service and Denial, gentlemen,’” he said in a fake Scots accent. “’That is what CI5 is all about. And if you let me explain, over this ridiculously priced caviar...which could’ve been spent better on weapons...’”

“Or training from Macklin,” added Bodie, getting into the spirit of things and laughing.

“Aye,” said Doyle. But his false accent lapsed, and he seemed to have forgotten his train of thought.

“Speaking of the old man’s speech. Reminds me of something.” Bodie darted a look at Doyle, smirking. “Suppose you’ve heard the one about Reginald Vice’s quest?”

“Nah, tell me.”

“Well he wanted to find head of the Nile.”

“Thought that was—oh _you_ know...whatsisname.”

“‘Mr Whatsisname, I presume?’”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Doyle nodded, curls bouncing again.

“He was the one who found it—old Whatsisname and Whosit—but this Reginald fellow, he was the one who wanted to find it. One of the ones. There were loads, you know—all sorts.”

“Making it up,” said Doyle.

“There were loads,” insisted Bodie. “So anyway—”

“So go on then.”

“I’m _trying_ to. This bloke, mate, he got knighted, before he even went, just for being willing to try. So he was Sir Vice...”

“ _Looking for de Nile_ ,” chorused Doyle before Bodie could quite get the words out. Their voices blended and meshed on the last, and then their laughter.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Bodie. “That’s the one.”

“Pillock.” Doyle aimed a punch with no teeth at his partner. Bodie tried to catch the fist with two hands, and they skirmished a bit more in the street.

Doyle stopped suddenly, his head coming up. “Hang about. Missing phone booth—up ahead.” He tugged free from Bodie’s grasp and headed that way, walking purposefully.

“Ah, the missing phone booth,” said Bodie, in his best fake-posh voice, slightly slurred. “Mystery solved! Call us a cab, then, Jeeves.” He headed after Doyle, halfway between a run and a drunken skip, humming and then beginning to sing in a low, silly voice, “Sir Vice and de- _Nile_....”


End file.
